Food for thought (a brief poem)

Food for thought


Likely the moon isn't cheese

but I keep enough of it in my fridge

to know it's still pretty cold up there

when nothing is going to expire

so likely the sun isn't butter

but it spreads across the sky

when the air tastes like salt

like kissing my CF baby

and likely the stars aren't

white chocolate chips but I know

my mother used to keep them

in the freezer so it's even colder

to ride on a star and likely the

trees aren't pillars of truth or

any kind of leafy vegetable

but I know in winter this white sky

is poured over them

and likely I'm just a speck that fell

onto the ground of earth

waiting to be swept away.